


Foundations

by cesau



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-23 02:26:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11980128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cesau/pseuds/cesau
Summary: Forsyth's life was built on two things: his dreams of knighthood, and Python.





	Foundations

Forsyth's life was built on two things: his dreams of knighthood, and Python.

If it came down to choosing one over the other, he wasn't sure he'd be able, simply because he couldn't imagine himself without either one. Without his dreams, his life would be empty. And without Python, he'd have given up on those dreams long ago.

Those were the foundations of his life, and had been as far back as he could remember.

He didn't remember the first time he met Python, probably because they were so young when it happened. Their mothers had been friends, or so he was told, and even in his earliest memories, Python was already there.

But everything else, every other milestone, was clear.

* * *

Forsyth remembered meeting a knight in real life for the very first time.

He'd been raised on stories of them, thanks to his father's teachings. In every great history, there were heroes, and those were the stories Forsyth listened to with rapt attention: the ones with the brave knights and brilliant commanders and noble champions. He had always idolized those figures, but it didn't solidify into anything more until the day a lone knight rode into their little town.

Holed up in his father's study with a stack of books he had no interest in reading, Forsyth wasted no time running to the window when he heard the sudden clamor outside. Through the glass, he saw an armored man on horseback, the adults in the town surrounding him with a sort of frenzied urgency. Not long after, Forsyth heard the door to his own house open and close, and then his father was out there among them.

His first instinct was to sneak out and eavesdrop, but he didn't get the chance. The knight dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to one of the farmers. Once he was on the ground, Forsyth could see how tall he was, almost dwarfing the women. He took off his helmet, revealing a sharp face and well-groomed hair, looking just like something out of storybook, and Forsyth felt validated to know that knights really _were_ as incredible as he'd always thought. After a moment, the knight seemed to address Forsyth's father, and then he followed him back to the door of their house.

If his studies had been on his mind at all by that point, they were certainly forgotten then. Forsyth kicked his books out of the way in his hurry to meet them at the door, but they were already inside when he skidded through the hallway, his father and the knight talking in low voices just past the threshold. They looked up when he rounded the corner, voices falling silent.

Forsyth found himself rooted to the spot, in total awe. He was oblivious to the stern look on his father's face and the hurried motion he made for him to leave. His father eventually took notice of that, and he sighed and shook his head.

“This is my son, Forsyth,” he told the knight, who turned to face him fully.

“Good to meet you, Forsyth,” he said. And then he smiled.

Forsyth felt his heart skip and he was suddenly very dizzy. Red-faced, he turned on his heel and ran back to the study, slamming the door behind him. He sank down against the door with his face buried in his hands, absolutely mortified at his own reaction. That...that had not been very brave at all. But that was a knight at _his_ doorstep, in _his_ house, talking to _his_ father! A real, actual knight, with armor and a horse and everything!

When his face didn't feel like it was on fire anymore, he slowly pushed the study door open and crept back out to the hearth, where his father and the knight were speaking again. He poked his head around the corner and watched them with rapt fascination, but their voices were too low for him to make out past the pounding in his ears, and when he tried to focus, he kept getting distracted anyway. _A knight,_ he kept thinking. _A real knight!_

His armor was polished to a shine, intricate patterns traced along the breastplate and pauldrons. It all looked so heavy, but he didn't seem burdened by it at all. He held his helmet casually under his arm, and Forsyth found his eyes drawn to his exposed face. He wasn't sure what it was, but there was something nice about it, about watching the way his expression changed and his mouth moved as he spoke. Forsyth wished he would smile again. Preferably at him.

He probably could have sat there and watched them all day, but it really wasn't long before his father caught sight of him and, frowning, ordered him out of the house. On any other day, Forsyth would have been happy to comply, but today, he had to be physically pushed out the door.

Still, he was in good spirits as he wandered to the outskirts of the town, where Python and his father lived. He was unsurprised to find Python outside, sitting on the stump of a felled tree and scraping away at a small block of wood with a worn carving knife. He looked entirely bored, though he grinned when Forsyth called his name. Forsyth hurried over, thoughts of the knight still lingering in the back of his mind.

“What is that?” he asked, leaning over to observe Python's work.

“It's a chunk of wood,” Python answered. Forsyth shot him a withering look.

“I meant, what are you making? What's it supposed to be?”

“It's _'supposed to be'_ something that makes it look like I'm working out here so my dad will stop bugging me.” He turned the shapeless thing over in his palms and tilted his head. “Think I could pass it off as a mountain?”

Forsyth had never understood Python's lack of motivation. Everyone said he had real talent, and Forsyth believed it, because he'd seen some of the things Python had made before and when he actually put in some effort, they always turned out great. But then he went and did something like this, like he didn't even _want_ to be good, and Forsyth didn't understand it.

He took the block of wood from Python's hands and frowned as he examined it more closely. Python watched with an expectant look on his face, as if there was a real answer to his question.

“Well, you've got the triangle shape, I guess,” Forsyth said. The outline of it _did_ resemble something...a shield, he thought suddenly: it had the perfect outline for a shield he'd seen in one of his books if it was worked at just a bit more, and he was quick to point it out to Python, who rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Come on, I just said I didn't want to do any more work,” he grumbled, but then thinking of the shield reminded Forsyth of the knight at his house and he had to tell Python about _that,_ too. He sat down on the grass next to the stump and chattered away while Python returned to his carving. He was a little disappointed at Python's lack of enthusiasm on the subject, and then he was put out when he learned that he'd already known about the knight's arrival.

“He's here to deal with the bandits – least, that's what my dad says,” Python said. “He's gonna train some of the men to fight so they can form a...what did he call it? It's like military, but it's just normal folks.”

“A militia!” Forsyth said with growing excitement. “We're going to have our own militia? That's amazing!”

“Uh huh.” Python didn't sound very excited at all.

“Don't you get it?” Forsyth said. “Training by a real knight! In our town! And that means he'll be staying for a while, doesn't it? Maybe he'll teach me! Maybe...maybe he needs a squire! In the books, all the knights have squires, but I don't think he has one yet.”

Python paused in his work and favored him with a confused look. “What's a squire?”

“A knight-in-training, sort of. It's like...well, you're apprenticed to your father, right? And a squire is apprenticed to a knight.”

“So, what, you want some old guy to boss you around?” Python made a disgusted face and went back to his whittling. “Been there, done that.”

“It's not 'bossing around'! It's training! And he's not old!” Something about the statement seemed off even as it left his mouth, and Forsyth barreled on in an attempt to clarify, “You have to meet him, Python! He's tall and he's got armor and he smiles and...and he's a _knight_!”

“You're so weird,” Python mumbled. He placed his knife on the stump beside him and held what used to be the shapeless wood block in front of him: now carved into a rough but recognizable shield. He examined it with squinted eyes, then shrugged and tossed it to Forsyth. “Go show that to my dad. Long as he thinks I got _something_ done today, he'll let me go play.”

Forsyth caught the carving in both hands and grinned as he ran off in search of Python's father, who could usually be found at his workbench behind the house. The man nodded his gruff approval at the little shield and Forsyth took off again. As he made his way back to Python, he looked the carving over, impressed by how close it was to the image he'd been picturing. Then he was confused, because on closer inspection, it was _exactly_ like the one in his book, right down to the design on the front.

“You're always making me look at those stupid books,” Python explained when Forsyth brought it up. Then he grabbed him by the hand and took off into the woods, in the direction of the river. They spent the rest of the afternoon skipping stones, and for a little while, the knight was forgotten.

In the end, the knight didn't last. He stayed for the rest of the season, drilling the men, and Forsyth even got his wish of training with him, but he left all the same. He smiled at Forsyth's suggestion that he ought to take him on as a squire, then reminded him that it would mean leaving his town and family behind.

“Don't you think you're needed here?” the knight asked.

In later years, of course, Forsyth would understand the question was only a kindness, but at the time, he really had thought about it. And it had been Python who'd come to mind, sitting alone on that stump and wasting his natural talents, then the little shield he still kept by his books at home. Python needed someone to keep him in line, he'd decided, so he would just have to stay.

* * *

Forsyth remembered the first time he truly felt his dreams taking shape.

Long after the knight had gone, Forsyth was still training with the men in the town's militia. He'd known even before the first time he held a lance in his hands exactly what he wanted with his life, and what he wanted was to become a knight. He knew the crown didn't grant peerage to commoners, but there were so many tales hidden away in his books speaking to exceptions, and he knew he could be one, if he could just prove himself!

Against his father's wishes, he began to skip out on his lessons to sneak off to the training grounds, where he would run drills until he was nauseous and his arms ached. At first, the men allowed him to stay mostly because it wasn't worth the effort to run him off. Later, when he started to show real promise, they even let him practice with them.

It was about that time he started dragging Python along with him.

His reasoning, if asked, would have been that it was every young man's responsibility to be prepared to defend the town, Python included. The reality of it, of course, was that they had always done everything together, and Forsyth wasn't about to stop now. Possibly Python felt the same way, because he only offered a token protest when Forsyth dragged him along to train.

It didn't take long to realize Python had no natural talent with a sword or lance, and he obviously lacked the ambition to meet that shortcoming. However, he'd been hunting with a bow most of his life, and that was the weapon he took to in the training grounds. Forsyth had been disappointed at first, but then he realized the potential for a partnership there, him charging into the fray with Python covering him from a distance, and that seemed like it could work.

Still, it left him without a sparring partner, and that was possibly how he ended up begging the commander of the militia to test his skill one afternoon. It took quite a few days of convincing, but eventually, the old man relented and agreed to his request. After training one day, as the rest of the men cleared out, Forsyth and the commander stayed behind. Python lingered on the grounds despite the bored look on his face, and he wasn't far away when their bout began.

Forsyth was a boy on the cusp of adolescence, 12 years old and starting to show some muscle but still generally an awkward, lanky thing, and he was facing a grown man twice as tall and wide. He held his own for about half a minute before the beating really started.

The first blow knocked him on his back, breath sucked out of his lungs. He blinked past the black spots in his vision and bounced back to his feet, picked up his lance, and tried again. The second blow wasn't any less brutal, but he kept his bearings. Each successive hit brought with it a new burst of agony, but none of it slowed Forsyth down. He was focused and determined, bearing the pain with a sort of feral pride.

The match only came to an end when the commander knocked him down once more and Forsyth was physically unable to stand up again. He lay on his back, breathing heavy and trying to move his arms, only succeeding in a slight twitch before he was groaning miserably from the effort of it. Above him, he heard the commander snort.

“Not bad,” he said. Then he yelled, “Python, get over here and help him, would you?”

Then Python was at his side, lifting him up by the armpits into a sitting position. He was staring at him with a very un-Python-like look on his face, a strange sort of nervous worry. Forsyth was suddenly afraid he'd hit his head during that last fall.

With Python's help, he was able to get back on his feet. He stretched a little as he stood, then winced at the ache it caused to run through his body. The pain was all but forgotten when he remembered what the commander had said, though: “Not bad.” His face split into a grin. He'd impressed the _commander!_ He knew he had in him!

“What was that about?” Python asked, startling him out of his celebration. Forsyth made a questioning noise, and Python continued, “Challenging a guy like that, what's the point? There was no way you were gonna win.”

“It's not about winning,” Forsyth said. The question was a strange one; he thought his intentions had been obvious. But Python was still sporting that odd expression for whatever reason, and it bothered him. “Anyway, what are you making that face for?”

Python's eyes widened at once and he scowled instead, turning away. “It's nothing,” he muttered, and neither of them brought it up again.

When Forsyth limped home that night, his father was waiting with the scolding of a lifetime and yet another warning that he was not to visit the training grounds. But he barely heard it past the excited shouts of his own mind. He'd always wanted to become a knight. Now, for the first time, he really believed he could do it.

* * *

Forsyth remembered coming to the realization that he was in love, though he couldn't quite recall how he'd gotten there.

The two of them had always been together, so he wasn't entirely sure when his feelings toward Python had started to change. It was a confusing thing to think about, because he'd always liked being around Python, possibly more than anyone else, and then one day he realized...well, he realized that he liked being around Python, _definitely_ more than anyone else. There was something different, he knew that, but he couldn't quite say what it was.

Python had always been casual about physical contact, knocking their shoulders together as they walked, poking at him with his feet when they were sitting down, or just slinging an arm around his neck for no real reason other than boredom. He'd always been like that and Forsyth had never minded, but there was a point where he realized he _more than_ didn't mind, he was actively seeking out that touch.

That discovery had also taken him some time to untangle. When he touched Python, there was a feeling like happiness, but more than that and he didn't know how to define it. He'd spent an entire night once scouring his books in a way that almost concerned his father, desperate to put a word to the confusing feeling, because perhaps then he could understand it.

Unfortunately, most of his books had very little to say about friendship or emotions. They were as useless as they'd ever been to him, and he discarded them with a huff. His next course of action might have been to ask his father, but some instinct told Forsyth this wasn't something he should discuss with him. So he gave up and settled on the closest word he _had_ been able to find: giddy. Happy and excited at the same time, but he wasn't sure what the excitement was for.

He did clearly remember the first time he tried to do something about it.

It was on an afternoon in Pegastym, and Python's father had sent him into the forest in search of a good cut. Forsyth had followed after, as usual. But it was that time of the season where the air was caught between cool and warm and pollen was everywhere, and before long, Forsyth's eyes were puffy and he couldn't stop sneezing. They reached a clearing, and he sat down on a log to catch his breath while Python scoped the area.

Forsyth tilted his head back, eyes closed, and hoped his nose wouldn't start running. The sneezing alone was bad enough, but if he started looking really sick, the commander might not let him train later. He had no intention of missing practice.

He opened his eyes as he heard Python approach, and then his friend sat down next to him, close enough that their knees were touching.

“This is pointless,” Python complained. “I don't know why the old man sent me out here anyway. It's not like I can bring a whole damn tree back to him...”

He kept talking, and Forsyth felt a little bad that he wasn't listening, but Python was very close and suddenly he couldn't stop staring and that, of all times, was when it clicked: he'd been looking in all the wrong books. He did, in fact, know what this was, mostly from those same stories he'd treasured as a child, the ones of knights and heroes and the princesses they saved. He'd just always thought it was supposed to happen between boys and girls, and it hadn't occurred to him that there was any other way of going about it.

While he untangled that revelation in his head, Python had stopped talking, and now he was staring out at nothing, a bored look on his face.

“Hey,” Forsyth said, voice cracking in a fairly embarrassing manner. But Python turned his head, and Forsyth took his chance. Heart pounding, he closed the distance and pressed their lips together, only briefly. When he pulled back, Python's eyes were wide and his face was bright red. He sat there in silence, stock-still, for a very long moment.

And then he jumped to his feet and ran away.

Forsyth hadn't really planned on any of that, either. He wasn't in any state to go running after Python, as shocked as he was, and by the time he'd collected his wits, the other boy was long gone. Then he just felt angry, partly at himself for being impulsive, and partly at Python for leaving him alone. That anger grew over the following hour as he stumbled through the unfamiliar woods and realized he actually had no idea how to get back to the town on his own.

He did find his way, eventually, but by then it was late enough that he'd missed drills with the militia and the commander wouldn't let him on the grounds. Forsyth decided then that he was done with Python, giddy feelings be damned.

His resolve lasted about a week.

He thought it was possibly the worst week of his life. Any worries he might have had about things becoming awkward were unfounded, because Python simply stopped visiting any place Forsyth might be. He wasn't surprised when Python didn't show up for training, but then he never ran into him in the square or by the forest or any other place they'd been known to linger, either.

That was also around the time Forsyth realized he didn't have very many friends outside of Python. Part of it might have been that there weren't many other children in the town their age, but even so, he'd just...never really felt the need for anyone else. He'd had Python, and that was enough.

Being without him felt wrong, and the thought that the way they'd left things was how they'd stay set off an undercurrent of anxious worry within him. People had always remarked on Forsyth's unusual persistence once he'd set his mind on something. Now, that focus wouldn't leave him, and no matter where he tried to take his thoughts, they always found their way back to Python.

So it was that, after days of mulling it over, Forsyth decided that the only thing to do was for him to apologize for his actions and hope Python would forgive him. If things could just go back to normal, Forsyth was sure his mind would calm down and then he could find some other solution to his problematic feelings.

And then, of course, because he'd never been able to predict Python in spite of all the years they'd spent together, his friend tracked him down first. It was Python who simply walked up to him one day and said, with no preamble, “Give a guy a little warning next time, would you?”

“I-I will!” Forsyth shouted immediately. Python grinned, looking a little nervous but probably not nearly as bad as Forsyth, and that was that. So the two of them together were nothing like his stories of knights and princesses, but, well, Forsyth had always found those parts rather boring anyway. There were a great many 'next times' over the coming years, and the further they went, the more it felt like a natural progression of the bond they'd always shared.

Because the bare truth of it was that he had loved Python well before he was _in_ love with him, and sometimes he thought very little had actually changed.

* * *

But Forsyth remembered the first time he'd been afraid of what _had_ changed between him and Python.

“You spend an awful lot of time with the carpenter's son,” his father remarked one day.

“You mean Python?” Forsyth said nervously, turning his father's words over in his mind and trying to decide whether there was some hidden meaning there, a warning. He couldn't recall the last time his father had brought up Python in conversation – couldn't recall if he _ever_ had, in fact – and he was suddenly worried they'd been found out. Not that he thought what they were doing was wrong, exactly, but he also had an instinctive understanding that it was not something to be shared. 'Different' was bad in a small town, and 'different' made people talk. And talk was the thing that had led his father to speak, it turned out.

“Right, that's the one. It seems all you two ever do is fight,” his father said. “Just the other day, I was running errands at the market, and the women there were talking about some ruckus you were causing in the square, yelling on and on at each other.”

Forsyth was slightly ashamed to admit his father would have to be much more specific than that for him to know to which occasion he was referring. Python had a way of getting under his skin, and it was only recently Forsyth had started to realize he viewed it as something of a game. In any case, they'd shout at each other for a few minutes and then go back to friendly conversation as if nothing had happened at all, and that was normal for them. He'd never thought to consider the way it looked to everyone else.

“It wasn't anything serious,” Forsyth said, deciding that response covered pretty much any of the situations his father might have been referencing.

“That's not the point,” his father said. “The point is that you were making a scene. If you can't behave yourself around him, perhaps you should find new company to keep.”

That conversation soon devolved into a lecture about studying instead of traipsing off to the training grounds as soon as his back was turned, as most conversations with his father were wont to do, and Forsyth tuned most of it out. He kept thinking back to his initial reaction to the thought of his father knowing the extent of his relationship with Python, the fear. He felt relieved now that he'd been mistaken. He didn't _want_ anyone else to know...and he wondered if that was wrong.

It was still on his mind the next day, and it only seemed to go away when he was on the militia's training grounds and focused completely on his training. He was the last one there at the day's end, as lost as he was in it. Python had wandered off halfway through practice, but he found his way back after everyone else had gone, and he was there when Forsyth finally decided he was done for the day.

He didn't get out more than a bare greeting before Forsyth blurted out, “Do you think it's strange that no one knows about us?”

Python stared at him blankly.

“Ah, you know, about...” Forsyth stopped short, unsure of how to continue. The trouble was that he never _had_ put a name to it, to whatever had changed. Neither of them had, not out loud. “It's only that, others our age are going about courting each other, and they're rather public about it, aren't they? Is it...strange that we're not?”

“Really? Courting? That's what you're going with?” Python looked torn between exasperation and amusement, neither of which was particularly helpful to Forsyth's predicament, so he crossed his arms and glared.

“You can call it whatever you like, if you'll answer the question.”

“What question?” Python snorted. “What, you want to go put on a show in the middle of the town square? That'll _really_ get the old maids talking, if that's what you're going for.”

“That's not what I meant! I just meant...” Forsyth trailed off and groaned, frustrated. He didn't know _what_ he meant, only that it seemed like something that needed to be said. Python watched him for a moment, and then he sighed.

“Alright, listen. You remember that girl last year, got herself knocked up by that traveling merchant? Whole town was talking about her. Her family shipped her off to some priory just so they wouldn't have to deal with it. You want that to happen to you?”

“It's hardly the same thing-”

“It is to them,” Python said slowly, as if he were talking to an idiot. Which may very well have been his intent, Forsyth supposed. And if anyone knew how gossip worked, it would be Python. Forsyth had watched him sidle up to those 'old maids' on more than one occasion, just to offer his own opinions and stir the pot further. Now, he laughed coldly and said, “Forsyth, there's a way things are supposed to be done, and us? We're not it.”

“We're not doing anything wrong,” Forsyth said immediately, struck by something in Python's tone. Something dismissive, or defensive, maybe – but something alarming, either way.

“That depends on who you ask,” Python said.

 _“We're not doing anything wrong,”_ he repeated, more forcefully. It seemed very important, now, that he and Python understood this the same way. Because they'd never had to name it, but that didn't mean it wasn't there, that it wasn't real.

“Yea,” Python said after a moment. “Yea, I know. It's not like _I_ care. But you know people are gonna talk, and it ain't gonna be the good kind of talk. You really want to deal with all that?”

“No,” Forsyth admitted. “I take it you don't either?”

“That's a hard pass, thanks.”

It seemed fine, then, to keep it just between the two of them. But that was when Forsyth's desire to leave his town – one he'd always had on some level because it wasn't as if he could achieve his dreams of knighthood there – expanded to mean something else, as well. He wondered if there were places people didn't talk. A place like the city, where there were simply too _many_ people to talk.

He wondered if he'd feel differently there.

* * *

Forsyth remembered the day he finally decided to leave his hometown. It was also the first time he fought the commander and won.

The immediate rush of pride was followed by a swell of disappointment at the commander's announcement that he had nothing left to teach him. Forsyth had never intended to stay with the militia, had always had those dreams of knighthood, but he suddenly had no idea what he was meant to do next. 

For possibly the first time, he didn't think of consulting his books. He was certain there were no answers waiting for him there. Instead, he went straight to Python.

Why he'd thought that would be a good idea, he could not have said.

“You're still on about that?” Python groaned. Forsyth had found him at the edge of the forest not far from the training grounds, whiling his time away on nothing at all, as per usual. (He had the sudden thought that he, too, would soon be spending his days like that, and it terrified him.)

“What, about becoming a knight? Of course! When have I ever _not_ been clear about that?” he retorted.

“Just thought maybe you'd have come to your senses by now.” Python smirked, but Forsyth didn't even have the energy to complain about it. Apparently disappointed by his lack of reaction, Python sighed and said, “Alright, so what's the problem, then? Doesn't sound like anything's changed.”

“It hasn't really,” Forsyth said. “But before, knighthood was always something in the future, something to work toward. And now...well, now, I don't really know. If there's nothing else for me to learn _here_ , then...”

“Then you go somewhere else,” Python said, as if it were that simple. “Or you find a new plan.”

He sat down at the base of a tree, and Forsyth followed automatically, turning his words over in his mind. Someplace new...

He considered that, in spite of his dreams, a part of him had always been resigned to his fate here. After all, his father had spent years trying to shape him into a scholar – with disappointing results, but results nonetheless. Following that path wasn't beyond Forsyth even now, not if he chose it.

But he didn't want it. He wanted to make a name for himself, to become the sort of hero he'd always looked up to as a child. He wanted to be a knight.

And then he felt a little foolish, because perhaps it _was_ that simple. Only it was frightening, in a way, the thought of leaving this place and everything he knew behind...even if he hadn't been all that fond of it to begin with.

“But where are we supposed to go?” he wondered out loud. 

“Huh? When did I become part of this plan?” Python looked at him with an expression of mock surprise, and Forsyth rolled his eyes.

“Oh, please. You don't mean to stay _here_? You've been complaining all your life about being forced to take over for your father.”

“Like you weren't doing the same thing.”

“That's my point exactly! And now I'm trying to do something about it!”

“I just don't see how _here's_ worse than anywhere else,” Python said, but the protest was halfhearted, even for him. Forsyth grinned triumphantly.

“Well, it's not better, either, now, is it? So what have you got to lose?”

“Other than my life?” Python grumbled, but then he shrugged and said, “Alright, fine, you got me. So where _are_ we off to?”

And Forsyth hadn't quite thought that far ahead yet, but it didn't take him long to decide the simplest path forward would be to find employ as soldiers for the local count, make their names known there, and work their way up the ranks. With that plan in mind, the two of them were out of the village by the end of the year.

It was a terrible plan, they quickly discovered, because the local count was less heroic nobleman and more storybook villain, but a bad start was still a start. And it was during their time there that they first heard of the Deliverance, so even the bad led to good in the end.

* * *

Forsyth chose to remember as little as possible about his time in the service of the man who'd earned himself the moniker 'Lord Dunderhead', but he remembered plenty about his early days in the Deliverance.

He recalled his first days there, the jittery nervousness that had made his every move stiff and awkward to the point his new superiors had actually hesitated to put him on the field of battle. And he recalled that first battle, the way his nerves had faded the moment he was in that familiar arena, the way he took to fighting as natural as if he'd been doing it his whole life, instead of just the past few years.

He recalled the day Sir Clive had named him and Python lieutenants, a reward after their actions at the Southern Outpost, and that had also been the day Forsyth knew with certainty that Clive was a man worth pledging his life to.

In fairness, anyone would have been an improvement over Lord Dunderhead. But Clive was more than just okay: he was _good_. From the moment Forsyth and Python had shown up on the Deliverance's doorstep, so to speak, Clive had seen their value and accorded them as much responsibility as they had earned. He was a return to the knights Forsyth had grown up idolizing, the noble champions of those who needed protecting. He was everything _Forsyth_ wanted to be.

“I told you not all nobles were like that count,” he said on the evening of their promotion, as he and Python sat down to eat in the Deliverance's makeshift mess hall. Python, of course, was not as impressed by their new rank as he ought to have been, and he was perfectly happy to try and ruin it for the both of them.

“Forsyth, the guy's got people deserting left and right,” Python said. “The only reason he's throwing around titles like lieutenant to commoners like us is because he ran out of nobles to butter up.”

“That's not true at all!” Forsyth protested. “Sir Clive doesn't just 'hand out' positions like that! He accords them based on merit! He's a good and honorable man, and a just leader, and an incredible fighter, and-”

“And he's got hair like sunshine and eyes like pretty gemstones – yea, I get it, he's a dream come true.” There was little bite to his tone, however, and Python laughed before saying, “Hate to break it you, pal, but he's got a fiance. And have you _seen_ Mathilda?” He whistled appreciatively. “Let's be real: I don't know that _anyone's_ topping that.”

“Then I suppose it's a good thing I'm not in competition with _Lady_ Mathilda,” Forsyth said with a glare, disgusted as always by Python's lack of manners. But then he was foolish enough to admit, “She _is_ something else, though, isn't she?”

“What? Really?” Python looked genuinely surprised, and then he grinned in that maddening way of his, the sort of look that told Forsyth right away he wasn't going to like what came next. “Right, right, your knight fetish-”

“Must you make everything so crude?!”

“Hey, _you're_ the one with the kink-”

“Lady Mathilda is a highly impressive warrior in her own right, and that is _all_ I meant!” he shouted, jumping up from his seat and slamming his palms down on the table. Python looked terribly amused at the ensuing silence from the mess hall around them. At least, he did until a polite cough from behind them caused them _both_ to flinch.

“Do I want to know what you're discussing?” Lukas asked, head tilted and expression as unreadable as ever.

“Nothing at all, Sir Lukas!” Forsyth yelled, resisting the impulse to salute purely out of deference.

“Again, Forsyth, just 'Lukas' is fine,” he answered calmly. He smiled slightly. “And I'll take your word for it. In the future, however, you might consider that your voice does have a tendency to carry, and perhaps check to see whether the object of your conversation is within earshot.”

Forsyth spun around to face the doorway, where Clive and Mathilda both stood, the former looking vaguely uncomfortable and the latter gently amused. Forsyth returned to his seat and bit back a whimper. That was absolutely mortifying...and entirely Python's fault, in his opinion.

But his foul mood didn't last very long, and all it took was remembering that he was a lieutenant in the Deliverance now, assisting Clive himself, that he'd earned that right and proven himself. That he was one step closer to his dream.

And knowing that, all the embarrassments in the world couldn't bring him down.

* * *

Forsyth knew he would always remember the day he was knighted, even as it was happening.

In the great hall of Zofia Castle, kneeling before King Alm and Queen Celica, he felt a strange sense of calm. He was surrounded on both sides by others from the war who had won this honor, the distinction of knighthood, but he paid them little mind. The king announced his name, tapped his sword to both of his shoulders, and bid him stand, and Forsyth responded as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It seemed unreal as it was happening, and the truth was that he felt very little at all.

He was proud, that much was true, but it was tempered somewhat by the conviction that he'd _earned_ this privilege through hard work and sheer determination, that he _deserved_ it. They all did, after what they'd gone through. So he accepted the honor with his back straight and his head held high and a confidence that came from knowing this was what he was always meant to do.

After the ceremony, he smiled graciously at every one of his wartime allies who offered their congratulations, and he kept his bearings, even when Clive himself commended his achievement. Forsyth remained calm until everyone else he knew was gone, and then it was just him and Python and a handful of strangers.

Their eyes met, and Python nodded and started out of the hall. Forsyth followed after, feeling a sense of relief. After a few twists and turns, they ended up in a deserted corridor, and then it really was just the two of them.

“Congratulations, Sir Forsyth,” Python said, and _that_ was when the dams broke. Forsyth threw his arms around Python's neck and started bawling into his shoulder, and he thought he could hear Python laughing over his sobs, but he held him anyway. _Finally_ it felt real, _finally_ he felt the weight of his new title, and it was so much as to be overwhelming.

A knight. He was a _knight!_ Everything he'd worked so hard for, the dream he'd been chasing ever since he was that foolish boy in a too-small town, and it was finally real. He wasn't at all ashamed of his tears; it only seemed right, given what it all meant.

And he did cry, for longer than Python could possibly have been comfortable with. When he'd gotten all of it out of his system, he stepped back and rubbed at his eyes, then smiled. “I really did it,” he announced, though it was entirely unnecessary.

“I guess if anyone was gonna turn the natural order of things on its head, it'd be you,” Python said. “Well, you and the peasant-king, I guess.”

“You can't call him that!” Forsyth yelped, looking around frantically, but the hallway was just as deserted as it had been when they'd walked in. “I'm fairly certain that counts as treason.”

“Come on, it's not like the kid would care.” That, Forsyth had to admit, was probably true. And it wasn't as if Alm would be surprised to hear the words coming from a man like Python...but that didn't make it right.

They were silent for a moment, and in that time, Forsyth was forced to confront the topic he'd been avoiding all day. He suspected Python had been doing the same, probably to avoid ruining his good cheer, but not talking about it wouldn't change anything either.

For all the men who'd been knighted today, Python wasn't one of them. He'd been offered the chance and turned it down in no uncertain terms, and nothing Forsyth said could convince him to change his mind. Python, all on his own, had decided his future lay elsewhere.

“Have you decided where you're going yet?” Forsyth asked. Python looked away and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Frontier village to the southeast, about a two days' ride from here,” he answered. “They're looking to start a militia there. Guess I'll be commanding it.”

Forsyth sighed. “I feel like I should by now, but I still don't understand you,” he admitted. Python offered him a lopsided smile.

“What's there to understand? I'm- how'd you always put it? I'm 'using my natural talents'.”

“And you couldn't use them here?”

Python looked around, gaze lingering on the gilded tapestries lining the hall, the intricate rugs and banners and statues, and he rolled his eyes. “This isn't me,” he said. “This is never gonna be me.”

“And you think it feels any more natural to _me_?” Forsyth said. “I grew up in the same tiny town as you, Python. Do you really think all this... _fanciness_...suits me any more than it does you?”

Whatever snappy comeback he was expecting, he was left disappointed, because Python only looked at him seriously and said, “Sure. You've been working for this your whole life, and it shows. You'll fit in fine before long.”

Forsyth wanted to protest, but on some level, he understood what Python was trying to say. It wasn't meant to be an insult and it wasn't meant to hurt, it was just the bare truth as he saw it: their paths, which had been entwined for so long, were finally separating. It had been a long time coming, and even he could admit that. Still...

“You won't be rid of me that easily,” Forsyth said. “Knight or not, if you're going to take on a responsibility like commanding a militia, you're still representing the kingdom's interests! So there won't be any slacking off, you hear me?”

“Wow, not even a knight for a full day and Good Sir Forsyth's already looking after the interests of the common folk,” Python teased, and Forsyth smiled in spite of himself. “Relax, I know what I'm getting myself into.”

Forsyth had serious doubts about that, but he shook his head and leaned in to embrace him once more.

“I'll visit as often as I can,” he said.

“I'll hold you to that,” Python answered.

Through Forsyth's entire life, in all of his memories, he'd had his dreams and Python both. Now, he was facing a future where he couldn't count on either. Those memories, and everything he'd built off of them, were precious, and it made saying goodbye a terrifying thing. But he comforted himself with the knowledge that goodbye didn't have to mean forever, and it didn't have to be a bad thing, either.

That was the thing about memories, after all: there were always more to be made.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: ~60% of this was originally part of the torture porn fic. That counts as a 'fun' fact, right?


End file.
